


Fleeing the Wolf

by Pavonisa



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Will, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cannibalism, Dark Will, Hannibal is made of ice and spite, M/M, Omega Hannibal, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, Slow Burn, do not expect him to mewl, eventually porn, maybe from Will idk, obviously, there will be no mewling, this is probably going to get pretty f-ed up just fyi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pavonisa/pseuds/Pavonisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most omegas are polite and submissive. Most omegas have children and tend house for their alpha. Most omegas don't make a habit of eating the rude, either. Good thing Hannibal Lecter is not like most omegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleeing the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write something with omega Hannibal for a while, since I don't see it a lot. Of course, he's still Hannibal, so he's always in charge and always in control -even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. Now a multi-chapter story!

_If you run from a wolf, you may run into a bear._

-Lithuanian proverb.

 

**Fleeing the Wolf**

 

From an objective point of view, omegas had an easier life than most. Pampered from birth and shielded from the militaristic alpha upbringing or the intellectually demanding beta education, there weren’t many expectations made of omegas –barring the obvious, of course.

Omegan education structures rewarded creative endeavours. The painters and sculptors whose works lined every museum were all omegas. Omega philosophers had expounded on the nature of the universe and the human mind since ancient Greece. Poets, dancers, architects, even mathematicians –omegas were the dreamers of dreams, as the old saying went, and those dreams made up the sum of human culture. They might not earn as much as betas or alphas but –in the right field of work –they could easily achieve a life of fame or comparative ease.

Hannibal Lecter was not in the right field of work. He was an omega; he was also a doctor of medicine as well as psychology and made people vaguely uncomfortable by being supremely capable in both occupations. He had thought more than once that those around him probably would have preferred him to be merely passable or –better still –slightly inept. It would make it easier for them to push him into the tired romance novel cliché of the obstinately independent omega working to keep their head above water until the right alpha rescued them from the nightmare of meaningful work.

There were always the polite attempts to distance him from the rest of the omegan population, of course. He was an outlier, automatically dismissed as the sole omegan who did not fall into a convenient stereotype. He was not different from other omegas on any significant level, as he would evenly point out when attempts at subtle probing came his way. He was taller than average but he had known taller. His face was more severe, with sharp cheekbones and penetrating eyes of dark maroon, but to insist that all omegas were full-hipped and baby-faced was demonstrably absurd.

In an odd way though, it had served him well in his psychiatry. From the time he had opened his practise, Hannibal had run a brisk business counselling omegas, who seemed to see him as someone to be respected but still capable of understanding the problems that omegas faced in their lives. But while omega neurosis and hypersensitivity was Hannibal’s bread and butter, he was far more interested in attracting alpha clientele. As he had remarked at more than one of his dinner parties when questioned, an alpha’s refusal to admit pain does not neutralise a wound. They needed therapists as much as anyone else. Although always initially reluctant, most of his alpha patients experienced great success once they decided that unburdening themselves to a foreign omega who made almost forceful eye contact and shook hands like an equal ‘didn’t count’.

And if Hannibal relished their admissions of confusion and fallibility, their inability to control or account for emotions more complex than lust and rage, where was the harm? He had committed worse sins than a little indulgent disdain. He enjoyed instructing alphas and always kept one eye open for the next potential patient –but he was a little more worried about the alpha that had turned up on his doorstep.

The man –Jack Crawford, special agent for the FBI –had showed up at his practise as he was dismissing Franklin. Hannibal really would have to refer him off soon –the money he brought in each week was quickly becoming outweighed by the tedium of having to listen to Franklin’s refusal to accept any sort of agency in his life. An unbecoming behaviour pattern for anyone, but Hannibal was willing to admit his omegan nature had little patience for a snivelling alpha. The man would be in therapy for the rest of his life, constantly trying to hand the burden of responsibility for his life to someone else. Maybe someone should relieve him from it . . .

“Wow. Are these yours, Doctor?”

The voice stirred Hannibal from his more pleasant musings. The small talk, although annoying, was slightly reassuring. Crawford did not strike him as the sort who engaged in meaningless pleasantries –very few alphas were –which meant he was trying to make an attempt at ingratiating himself with a new omega. Hardly the actions of someone with any idea what Hannibal was capable of, more the preliminaries before asking for a favour. Still, when he demonstrated sharpening a pencil point with a scalpel for the FBI agent, Hannibal only put down the pencil. No reason not to take precautions.

Jack looked over the buildings and Parisian scenery that decorated the wall and Hannibal took the opportunity to look him over in turn. The alpha was handsome –broad shoulders, strong lines made soft with years of deskwork but there was still the edge of a strong alpha. He was mated –Hannibal could smell a female omega’s scent lingering around the neat double-Winsor tied about Jack Crawford’s throat –but he wouldn’t have met Hannibal’s standards even if he were unattached. Very few alphas did.

“Now I understand how you earned your internship at John Hopkins,” said Jack.

One corner of Hannibal’s mouth twitched, very slightly. He could hear the tone of Jack’s voice, the note that wasn’t quite relief but came intimately close. An omega artist, Jack was thinking. Eccentric in a way he could understand. If he closed his eyes, Hannibal could almost hear the slight _click_ as Jack neatly slotted him into the appropriate box.

“I’m beginning to suspect you’re investigating me,” he said lightly.

Jack gave a soft bark of laughter, a smile lifting his serious frown. It was a small gesture, revealing just enough teeth to show humour without being threatening. The movement was a little stilted; Hannibal would guess the man was used to working with alphas and pushing to get results. “You were referred to me by Alana Bloom,” he explained, almost soothingly.

Hannibal put down the scalpel, laying it flat against the corner of his desk, his mouth moving through polite small talk as he picked at the threads of information. Alana, the young omega he had mentored. A charming girl; she’d find a good alpha who let her mostly have her own way and settle down in a therapy job until her first pregnancy. It was quite likely she already had her eye on this referral –Hannibal had only been referred a patient of hers once before, when the man made not entirely unwelcome sexual overtures. Nothing had come of it, but the precedent was there.

Hannibal tuned back into the conversation as he picked up the awkward intake of breath habitual in alphas unused to asking favours.

“I’d like you to help me with a psychological profile,” said Jack, a touch bluntly.

Hannibal frowned, not letting any of his curiosity show. He would get more information with reticence than enthusiasm. “I don’t often consult for the FBI,” he said dryly.

“We’ve got a man, he’s . . . unusual.”

One of Hannibal’s eyebrows rose. “Unusual in what way?” he asked, smoothing down a non-existent crease in his suit jacket.

“He’s an empathic alpha.” Jack shrugged as if to wash his hands of the nonsense in front of him. “There was a –a traumatic incident and I want to make sure he’s safe to let back on the field.”

Alana definitely had at least one eye on a relationship with this alpha; she would never have referred a simple rubberstamping otherwise.

“Empathy is not absent in alphas,” Hannibal reminded Jack, who held up a hand to forestall him.

“I know that,” he said, “but Will Graham is different. He can get inside a killer’s mind. Feel what they feel. Understand them better than they understand themselves.”

Hannibal stopped smoothing down his suit jacket’s lines. “How interesting,” he said, as if this wasn’t the most fascinating piece of news he’d heard in a long time. Jack sensed his interest, leaning in for the kill.

“We’ve tried taking him to an alpha therapist, but the results were,” Jack’s pause was strategic, “not so good.” Hannibal couldn’t say he was surprised. So much of alpha social conditioning was bound up in not appearing weak; it made counselling difficult to say the least. “And the omega counsellors, well, they’re just not equipped to deal with the sort of crazy Graham has to wallow in every day.”

“I have a reputation for taking on difficult clients,” Hannibal nodded as the pieces came together. “Alright. I would be interested in profiling this Will Graham for you.”

Jack shifted a little in his chair, with a slightly pleased surprise in the quick smile he flashed the omega.

“Will he be willing to work with an unmated omega?” he asked.

“Don’t worry,” said Jack, all reassuring smiles and pacifying hand gestures. “I don’t think you’re his type.”

Hannibal was silent for a moment. American standards of beauty leaned towards the cute and smoothly curved; enormous naïve eyes and full, fertile hips. He was a product of his homeland and seven previous generations of alphas who had pursued unattainable, fierce omegas and would not have altered himself even if he could.

“Excellent,” Hannibal said finally. “I have to admit to a certain amount of curiosity. When would you like me to meet him?”

Jack stood up, affording Hannibal his hand. “How’s ‘now’ work for you?”


End file.
